


Better Than Ice Cream

by sv_you_know_who_I_am



Category: Shatter Me Series - Tahereh Mafi
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sv_you_know_who_I_am/pseuds/sv_you_know_who_I_am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warner has been gone on a mission, and when he returns he introduces Juliette to more than one kind of special treat.</p><p>Takes place several years after "Ignite Me." No underage here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place after the Shatter Me series. Spoilers for Warner’s name. This takes place a few years after Ignite Me ends so they are in their early twenties (because I ain’t writing smut for teenagers).

 

I’m not breathing as the clock ticks on.

 _Tick tick tick_.

5:00. Warner said to expect him at 5:00, and Warner is never late.

It is 4:58.

I focus on the expansion of my lungs. I feel them expand, and I imagine the little webs of muscle stretching apart then shrinking back together. I know how lungs work, not just from having a pair to call my own but because once when I was 15 I was in a waiting room and there was nothing to do and nothing to say, so I picked up a pamphlet. A really old dusty pamphlet that showed healthy lungs and then also showed black and weathered and rotting lungs . . . what lungs looked like if you breathed in too much smoke.

It’s hard to believe people used to poison themselves for fun. For relaxation. Then our air became poisoned and no one found it relaxing anymore.

There were a couple of days when I was locked away that I worried my lungs would turn black like that from disuse. Which was nonsense, because of course of breathed, even though I lost track of my breaths sometimes.

I am losing track of them now as my eyes fix on the littlest hand on the clock which spins too quickly too quickly around the white face. My left hand shakes. If Warner isn’t on time, then something is wrong, and in this time of unrest there are far too many _somethings_ that could fill the spaces occupied by question marks and shallow breaths.

I cross my right arm over my chest and fold my hand over my upper left arm. One finger goes tap tap tap against the skin there. I can feel the little vibrations ripple in my skin like whispers.

4:59.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Please let him be okay please let him be okay please let him be

The handle on the door turns. I straighten. My hand tightens around my arm until I feel a pinch of pain.

There’s a series of clicks as the door swings open and then his silhouette is in the door and he turns his back to flip the light on because I have been standing in the dark.

He turns around and almost jumps to see me standing there.

My feet are concrete.

“Hello, love,” he murmurs. I can’t say anything. My voice flew out the door the moment he opened it. Instead I stare at his face as though it’s the first food I’ve seen in weeks. Then I scan his body, looking for hurts, for injuries--

He knows what I’m doing. “I’m all right,” he says softly.

“You were almost late.” A pitiful welcome.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “But I wasn’t.”

“No.” I suck in a breath and then release it in a sigh of relief, the meshy microscopic tangles in my chest doing their job to send the bad air out and bring the good air in. The good air that smells like peppermint and leather and _Warner_.

He walks 7 paces across the room to me and stand right. in. front. of. me. And I close my eyes as I breathe him in deeper. A butterfly lands on my forehead.

Not a butterfly, I realize. Warner’s kiss.

I melt.

My arms fold around him and I tip my head forward. He tucks it into his chest and perches his chin above my head. His arms wrap securely around me and I forget that a minute ago I was worried I’d never feel them again. A shudder of relief surges through me and I am a leaf tossed on the breeze that has found my tree again. Nature working backwards.

One of his broad hands shifts to cradle my hip and the other rises to make a perch for my chin. He tilts my head up and I wish the sky were the color of his eyes. We’ve done a blue sky, I think. Maybe green would be nice in this new world. “I missed you, Juliette,” he says, and I am hot hot hot as his lips fold over mine and that scent of mint and leather and Warner drips down my throat and lights a fire in my stomach. I press myself closer to him and he groans just slightly. “Let me get in the door first, love?”

I blink as though clearing water from my eyes after a long swim. And I suddenly become aware of the fact that I have left

no

space

between our bodies.

I step back. “Sorry,” I mutter.

Warner grips me by the hand to keep me from getting too far. “Never apologize for that,” he said. “Only . . . Delalieu is bringing dinner soon and the last thing I want is to be interrupted when I’m eating _you_ for the first time in two weeks.”

The fire in my stomach drops down between my legs and rises to my cheeks all at the same time.

“God, you kill me when you blush like that,” Warner says, tugging me closer to him again. I’m very careful to leave space between us. His hand rises to run one smooth course from my temple to my jaw, which he cradles in his palm.

“How did the mission go?” I ask tightly, trying to come up with something _anything_ to keep me from focusing on the tension in my body.

Warner sighs and his shoulders sag and I realize I’ve said the wrong thing _~~and you’re so stupid, Juliette~~_ but Warner steps over to the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed and draws me into his lap. I nestle into a familiar position. “It was a success,” he says, kissing my temple. “Castle located the other Omegas in Sector 37 and he has passed on equipment for them to use to overthrow their regent. I infiltrated the military and strummed up discord there. We should hear whether or not their efforts succeed within the month.”

My fingers idly fiddle with the collar of his shirt. “I was so worried,” I say.

“I know. Next time we’ll go together.”

“Remind me why we didn’t this time?”

“ _Because_ you had a fever the day before and were in no state to travel. _I_ was barely in a fit state to travel. I was so worried about you.”

“I was fine the next day.”

“So I was told. It didn’t stop me from worrying.” Warner’s fingers trace a feather-light line up the side of my body and I try not be distracted by them. By _him_. Try not to think about how badly I want to kiss him and never stop.

I’m saved by Delalieu. Warner gracefully sets me back on my feet before he strides over to the door and accepts the cart with two trays on it. He takes it over to the bar in the corner of the room and set the plates down on it.

“We could just take it to your office,” I suggest, and Warner lifts an eyebrow.

“I don’t eat in there,” he says. “I despise crumbs where I work.”

“Oh. Of course,” I say. I’m deflated but I don’t know why. I perch on a barstool next to Warner and we eat in quiet. The food is delicious but somehow it is still parchment on my tongue. I wish I could find words, anything good to say right now, but Warner is staring at the wall, mindlessly chewing, and I don’t want to shake him from his thoughts.

We finishing eating at about the same time and Warner takes my plate to put it back on the cart. “Oh,” he says when he arrives there. “Looks like Delalieu included dessert.”

“Dessert?” I asked, shifting in my seat to look over my shoulder.

Warner walks back over and I see two small stemmed glasses in his hands, each filled with something decorated to look appealing. I stare hard, trying to figure out what it is. Warner laughs. “Don’t look so concerned, love. It’s only ice cream.”

“Ice cream,” I repeat, blinking.

“Have you never had it?” he asks.

I frown. “I think I remember ice cream.”

“You think.”

Yes, I remember ice cream. I remember a truck that rode through the neighborhood and sold it on sticks, music playing from speakers on the roof as it rolled along. Kids would clamor to get close, and so I always stayed away, because if kids were clamoring it was no place for me, because I might accidentally bump into someone.

I think a teacher once took pity on me and bought me some. I was so stunned that I didn’t even taste it and just let it melt all over my hands.

“I don’t think I know what it tastes like.” This is all I say, because to reflect on my lonely childhood with Warner is not what I am interested in doing right now, especially not when he’s looking at me like _that_ , like he _knows_ exactly what I’m thinking of and wants to snatch the thoughts away from me.

“Allow me to introduce you,” he says in a low voice. He sets one of the glasses on the counter with a clink that triggers an unknowable memory in my ears. He sits on the stool across from me and angles his body so that he is facing me and the ice cream is in his hand between us. He lifts a silver spoon with his right hand and works a small bit of the green frozen stuff onto the spoon. Apart from the perfectly rounded lump of it, I see that there are brown flecks in it, too. “Open up,” Warner says. I look at him reproachfully and he laughs. “Humor me,” he says.

I open my lips and he slides the silver spoon in. The metal clinks against my teeth and makes an instrument of them, but I close my lips around the bowl of the spoon and Warner slowly slides it out again, depositing the ice cream in my mouth.

I press the ice cream between my tongue and the roof of my mouth, but I realize this is a mistake, because everywhere the ice cream touches my mouth goes numb with cold. But it’s also melting fast, and an explosion of mint seeping over my tastebuds and into the cracks between my teeth and starts to slip down my esophagus. Then I realize the brown flecks are crunchy and I chew, feeling a satisfying _crunch_ between my jaws. ~~It’s almost as satisfying as crushing a brick with my bare hands~~. The sweetness of the chocolate chases the mint down my palette.

The ice cream is gone and I run my tongue over the roof of my mouth to peel away the numbness.

“How did you like it?” Warner asks, watching my facial expressions like a hawk.

I smile. “It’s delicious.”

Warner smiles back. “More, love?”

I nod eagerly. Warner scoops out more ice cream and I open my mouth again, closing my eyes this time as I let him slide it out between my lips, focusing on the sweet concoction that has been reintroduced into my world.

The spoon stops just at the seam of my lips and I open my eyes as I swallow the ice cream.

Warner’s eyes are filled with an unspeakable hunger. His jaw is slack and tight all at once and I’m not sure how that’s possible. All I know is that his eyes are gems and I want to go swimming in them.

The ice cream clatters to the tile floor, making an absolute mess and there’s only one time Warner can tolerate mess at all and that’s when he’s--

He’s dragged me from the barstool and spun me so that my back is pressed against the bar and his body is pinning me there and I’m hot and cold and hot and cold and hot and cold as his tongue plunges into my mouth and he’s kissing me like he’s starving and the ice cream I just swallowed was his only food--

I’m kissing him back just as hungrily, and the mint of him mixes with the mint of the ice cream. He drags his tongue over the roof of my mouth and I’m sure he can taste the ice cream still there and his hands are hot so hot against my waist. There’s

no

space

between our bodies and I have to arch back to handle his kissing. The end of my hair spills over the other side of the bar and I brace one elbow against its surface while the other arm rises to tangle my fingers in his hair. I’m neither here nor there and I’m not sure my feet are touching the ground and then I realize they _aren’t_ because Warner is carrying me and

The bed.

I’m on my back on the bed and Warner has wasted no time in getting my t-shirt over my head. I only have half a thimble-full of logical thought and it’s enough to scold myself for not wearing something nicer for his arrival but he doesn’t care not one bit. Because the sooner he can get my clothes off of me, the better, and he tells me that with his quick breaths and racing pulse and frantic kisses. His body is everywhere over mine and as he kisses my lips my face my neck he holds my wrists above me. My toes grip helplessly at the legs of my pants as if I could pull them off myself, but I needn’t worry. Warner has used his lips to forge me a new set of arteries from my throat to my sternum to my navel and I can feel hot blood pounding wherever his mouth has touched my skin. They pause just below my navel and my toes stop worrying about my pants because they’re gone. I don’t even care where they went.

“Juliette. God, _Juliette_ ,” Warner moans against my skin, and I wrap my legs around his bare torso-- _ ~~I don’t remember taking his shirt off did I do that?~~_ \--while my newly-freed fingers grapple for his shoulders. But he takes each knee firmly in his hand and lowers them down again. “Be patient, love,” he says. His voice is husky and I think I hear it with my stomach and not my ears. He pulls back from me and lets out a hissing breath. “You’re wearing the underwear I gave you.”

A frozen wave of mint catches my mind and I’m able to nod. I didn’t plan it, but yes, I am wearing the dark purple silken underwear he bought for me--simple in cut and style but small. Smaller than I would have picked for myself. I didn’t expect to like them this much.

“Let’s save these for later,” he growls, and with the slowness of magma consuming islands that people used to live on, he rolls them down my thighs and over my knees until I’m bare before him.

We’ve done this so many times and yet it is always new.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says with a sigh, and my lips fall into a frown as he disappears from my view, dropping to his knees before me.

“Warner?” I ask, unable to keep the slight whine from my voice. I still feel him there, near my legs, but I can’t see him.

“Do you trust me, love?” he asks.

“I--yes, Aaron, always. I--”

Explode.

I am not prepared I am so unprepared but I am so ready to fracture into tiny little pieces like fireworks I saw once on a holiday when I was a child and I could not stop staring because they were so beautiful and now I am all those little pieces of fire and light cascading through the room and “ _Aaron!_ ” comes the gasping cry out of me as I hit the end of my fuse and I’m nothing but color and sparks and energy . . .

My hips writhe against Aaron’s mouth as he licks me, but he holds me down _~~why is he keeping me from flying~~_ and his tongue runs one long stroke up the middle of me. I whimper and I feel his laughter float like butterflies in between my thighs. He closes his mouth over that hidden spot that I had known of from those dirty pamphlets in the hospitals but hadn’t _known_ until Aaron had helped me learn just how it could make me feel and I’ll never ever forget that gift. He knows it well now and his kiss sucks expertly at it until my eyes are rolling back back perhaps even right around, not fixing on anything until his fingers are there too and I suddenly have laser focus on the canopy above me.

“Aaron,” I breathe. His name is the only word I know now. His fingers are poised right at the threshold of the door he’s opened.

“Say it again, love,” he grumbles, kissing me again.

“ _Aaron_.”

He slides a finger inside of me and I am those fireworks again. I have no up or down or right or left or ground or ceiling just my fuse. His tongue and his fingers are the fire that travels up my spine, tightening, tightening, until there I go I’m exploding again but this time it’s the grand finale and I’m every color and whirring sound and fizzing light. And I’m breathing heavy as the sparks of me descend to earth and wrinkle into little embers that blow away on a light summer breeze.

My breaths are that light summer breeze and I’m blowing myself away with hot gasps. I can’t feel my fingers anymore, they’re gone, along with my toes and the tips of my ears and off I go on the wind . . .

A dark shadow moves over me and the mattress gives way around me, gravity urging me closer to Aaron’s hard body. His lips are on my forehead and his arms cocoon around me. I’m not drifting off on a breeze anymore. All the pieces of me are being drawn into him like magnetics. I’m shaking, I realize, and Aaron tucks my head under his chin. “How do you feel, love?” he asked.

“You should know,” I mutter. Surely he felt everything I did. I had remarked before on what a convenient power that had to be when he was treating me like this. He had laughed and said it had its advantages.

“I want to hear you tell me,” he says. “You always have such a lovely way of putting things.”

I reach up a trace a finger down his jaw. “Fireworks,” I say. “I feel like fireworks.”

“I take it that’s a good thing?” he asked. I pinch his side and he laughs. He strokes my hair for a while and I nestle in close, the pounding between my legs fading to a dull, happy smolder.

“Did I taste like ice cream?” I ask after a moment of quiet and he jerks in surprise. I feel the laugh in his throat more than I hear it.

“Better,” he says. He turns me over on my back again and rolls on top of me, pinning me down. “A million times better.” His eyes bore into mine and I know without knowing that we’re by no means done for the evening. He leans in close and I can almost count the blond hairs on his upper lip. “Would you like a taste?” he asks in a sultry voice that dissolves my bones like iron in a smelter.

I nod, and Aaron bends down to kiss me so deeply that I think I’ll fall right through the mattress.

And he’s right.

It’s a million times better than ice cream.


End file.
